We were hunting leopard on the Devuli ranch in Zimbabwe with William Finnaughty. The place was so full of plainsgame that they wanted my lady to shoot at least a 55 inch kudu. (She finally got a 58 inch bull).

Our hunting camp was very nice indeed and if I remember correctly, it was part of the Duckworth group.

The rondavel where the bathroom was situated had the traditional grass roof and one day two baby mice fell out of the ceiling.

They appeared unhurt and for the next few days, the Canucks that had come so far to hunt kudu, and warthogs and impala and most everything else found in that part of Zimbabwe, did their best to save the wee rodents.

Not every story has a happy ending.

Have hunted the Lukwati reserve a few times, but last year saw a few things I've never seen before there. We saw a group of wild dogs, one of which was sick and appeared to have a snake bite on the face. Saw a ratel there for the first time. And, while I'd seen river otter tracks there numerous times, I'd never actually seen the otters, but we did on two occasions last year. Really fun to watch.

Fun with silly game scouts.

We had a young one in Chete.

He insisted we cannot shoot anything in the area between the lake shore and forest - except crocs and hippos.

One morning g we were looking for impala for bait.

Plenty feeding by the lake shore.

No, he said you have to wait tell they pass the high water mark.

We laughed, and thought of humoring him.

Waited a bit as the impala started walking back to the bush.

Got my rifle ready - a custom 270 Ackley.

As they got close to the forest, he said I could shoot.

Bang.

One dead impala.

The trackers started on him.

He eased up after that.

Another we had, also in Chete, was an obnoxious character.

He kept telling us he was part of the revolution.

And killed many in his fight.

He was a very large man, his name was Charles.

He did not like being called Charlie, as he mentioned that he was an actual Prince.

From a tribe that lived in Wankei.

Jokefully I said he must be a Princer of the Wankers.

He agreed!

Roy was laughing so much tears were coming down.

One day we went and stopped the truck on top of a hill, and walked to the other side looking for crocs in one of the inlets.

Close to the truck was a large log, lying down.

Prince Charles of the Wankers sat down resting his back against the log.

Roy and me were a distance from them, when Alan comes running to tell us there was a big kudu on the valley below.

Back we ran for the kudu.

I had a 338 Lazzeroni, with a muzzle brake.

We could see the kudu feeding, and the log was a perfect rest.

I sat behind Prince Charles of the Wankers, and told him to not move.

I was on the other side of him.

The barrel end was about 2 feet from his head.

I shot the kudu.

Prince Charles jump up holding his ears.

Roy was rolling on the ground laughing.

In the truck, he kept telling me, when he could stop laughing enough to talk, saying I LOVE IT!

Sighting-in one time, after arrival in camp.

The PH placed the target about 50 meters away. The bulls-eye was a black circle about 3/4" in diameter hand-colored with a Sharpie on the bottom of a box.

I aimed at it, and the scope's reticle completely covered the entire thing.

But I did my best.

First shot was perfect for windage, but about an inch and a half low as for elevation. The PH wanted me to adjust my scope.

I said, let's take another shot.

Same thing.

I thought maybe my scope had been knocked out of whack, so I clicked in some more elevation.

Next shot was about an inch and a half high, but again, perfect as to windage.

By now I've already spent three rounds on sighting-in, which never happens to me unless I have a scope problem.

So then the proverbial lightbulb flashed on in my brain, and I said, the bulls-eye is too small! Let's make it bigger.

We did, and my next shot was still an inch and half high.

I then shook my head and removed the elevation I had cranked in before.

Next shot: In the black.

Nowadays, I bring my own targets!

A lot of your sight-ins are going to be on water bottle boxes. So I bring some of those orange stick on aiming points. They take up no room and I leave the rest of the package with the camp when I leave. But I've sighted in on a blaze on a tree made by a panga as well.

Took my wife for her first trip to Africa on a hunt in Masailand. She was a bit concerned but we went in July/early August and I promised her she wouldn't see a snake I wouldn't take her out of camp when we hunted buffalo. I broke my promise on both counts. We climbed a kopke to glass and I stepped right over a python, that the PH caught, and later on the Pannini River, she was with us when we were tracking eland, but spotted a herd of buffalo. They were 200 yards out across a drainage and we couldn't get any closer. Although I'd shot my .416 to 300 yards and killed a kongoni at that range, I didn't want to take a 200 downhill shot on a buffalo. The PH and I discussed the situation and he finally convinced me to get in a sitting position on short sticks and at least take a look. The rest was solid and I took the shot. The herd boiled over the top, but the bull I shot ran downhill into the bottom of the drainage. Shortly afterwards, we heard the bellow. Everyone relaxed a bit and my wife asked, "Did you get the eland?"

Another time.

We hauled up in camp at 10,000 feet above sea level.

I am breathing like a dying horse.

We spend the night at well below zero in a house made of yak dung with a central divided wall filled with same and set alight for heat.

Next morning, after urinating and defecating into a hole in the ground, with amazing accuracy, if I do say so myself, we are garblingly but eventually told that it is time to check the zero on my rifle.

I am still breathing like a dying horse, despite the pharmaceutical benefits of Diamox.

I break out my sweet, featherweight Winchester Model 70, chambered in .270 WSM, sighted with a Swarovski scope having a ballistic reticle, and range tested out to 1,000 yards, and know that this is the hard and risky part.

Did something go wrong in transit?

Will I go wrong when push comes to shove?

We are after Marco Polo sheep and Mid-Asian Ibex. One must sometimes shoot them across wide canyons.

How will we do, me and my rifle?

I look across the expanse of barren ground to where our guide has set up the bloody box with the invisible black hand drawn circle aiming point, far into the distance.

Freaking 320 yards away! As measured by my Gunwerks G-7 range finder.

I am doomed, I think.

But I dial up the elevation on my Austrian scope's ballistic turret, and settle down to prone, with my sweet, featherweight Winchester rifle rested on my sleeping bag.

First shot: In the black.

Damn. I am good.

But if nothing shootable shows up, over two weeks, it doesn't matter how good you are.

As the French say, On doit rentrer bredouille.

That's hunting.

All zeroed up, and no place to go.

My first African hunt was in May of 1983, 24 days in Deka with Rosslyn Safaris, guided by Roy Vincent. We had a fantastic hunt, but some of my fondest memories are of little things that happened along the way.

One such moment occurred early one morning after we’d left our simple tent camp on the Mbala River near the old game warden station along the main road from Wankie town to Sinamatela. We were driving down the road with the sun barely up and came upon a flock of Guinea fowl. Roy stopped as we has 10 or 12 guineas on license for the pot. We had a game with his Ruger 10/22 where each of us got to keep the gun till a missed shot, then the other guy got to shoot till he missed. I got to go first since I was the client. The guineas scattered into the forest with us in hot pursuit. I shot one or two before missing and had to give Roy his 22. We kept after them, running through the forest with the trackers, Roger and Taba, picking up the birds as we chased after the guineas, handing off the gun each time one or the other missed a shot. We must have had around a half dozen birds when something occurred to me and stopped me in my tracks…

I asked Roy how far he thought we were from the truck. His response was something like ‘I don’t know, 400-500 yards, why?’ ‘Uh, the only gun we have is that 22’. ‘Oh, yes, we better head back to the truck then’. On that hunt we saw all of the Big Five, so wandering around with nothing bigger than a 22 wasn’t too smart.

quote:

Originally posted by DLS:
My first African hunt was in May of 1983, 24 days in Deka with Rosslyn Safaris, guided by Roy Vincent. We had a fantastic hunt, but some of my fondest memories are of little things that happened along the way.

One such moment occurred early one morning after we’d left our simple tent camp on the Mbala River near the old game warden station along the main road from Wankie town to Sinamatela. We were driving down the road with the sun barely up and came upon a flock of Guinea fowl. Roy stopped as we has 10 or 12 guineas on license for the pot. We had a game with his Ruger 10/22 where each of us got to keep the gun till a missed shot, then the other guy got to shoot till he missed. I got to go first since I was the client. The guineas scattered into the forest with us in hot pursuit. I shot one or two before missing and had to give Roy his 22. We kept after them, running through the forest with the trackers, Roger and Taba, picking up the birds as we chased after the guineas, handing off the gun each time one or the other missed a shot. We must have had around a half dozen birds when something occurred to me and stopped me in my tracks…

I asked Roy how far he thought we were from the truck. His response was something like ‘I don’t know, 400-500 yards, why?’ ‘Uh, the only gun we have is that 22’. ‘Oh, yes, we better head back to the truck then’. On that hunt we saw all of the Big Five, so wandering around with nothing bigger than a 22 wasn’t too smart.

Hunting with Roy is never too smart!

In all the years I have hunted with him, shooting hundreds of animals, DEAD!

He NEVER said “good shot”

My shots have always been too high. Too low. Too far back. Too far forward.

One time I shot an impala.

He dropped dead.

Roy said “what happened?”

Funny enough, now he has be relegated to being a video camera man, he always says GOOD SHOT SAEED!

So you see, to get a professional hunter to see reality, bring him down a rung or two

quote:

Originally posted by Saeed:

quote:

Originally posted by DLS:
My first African hunt was in May of 1983, 24 days in Deka with Rosslyn Safaris, guided by Roy Vincent. We had a fantastic hunt, but some of my fondest memories are of little things that happened along the way.

One such moment occurred early one morning after we’d left our simple tent camp on the Mbala River near the old game warden station along the main road from Wankie town to Sinamatela. We were driving down the road with the sun barely up and came upon a flock of Guinea fowl. Roy stopped as we has 10 or 12 guineas on license for the pot. We had a game with his Ruger 10/22 where each of us got to keep the gun till a missed shot, then the other guy got to shoot till he missed. I got to go first since I was the client. The guineas scattered into the forest with us in hot pursuit. I shot one or two before missing and had to give Roy his 22. We kept after them, running through the forest with the trackers, Roger and Taba, picking up the birds as we chased after the guineas, handing off the gun each time one or the other missed a shot. We must have had around a half dozen birds when something occurred to me and stopped me in my tracks…

I asked Roy how far he thought we were from the truck. His response was something like ‘I don’t know, 400-500 yards, why?’ ‘Uh, the only gun we have is that 22’. ‘Oh, yes, we better head back to the truck then’. On that hunt we saw all of the Big Five, so wandering around with nothing bigger than a 22 wasn’t too smart.

Hunting with Roy is never too smart!

In all the years I have hunted with him, shooting hundreds of animals, DEAD!

He NEVER said “good shot”

My shots have always been too high. Too low. Too far back. Too far forward.

One time I shot an impala.

He dropped dead.

Roy said “what happened?”

Funny enough, now he has be relegated to being a video camera man, he always says GOOD SHOT SAEED!

So you see, to get a professional hunter to see reality, bring him down a rung or two

That is funny and SO TRUE. On the same hunt, I shot a fabulous sable. It stumbled around in a circle and fell over dead. We get to the sable and see a bullet hole perfectly located in the shoulder. Roy told me I should have shot it “here”, and put his finger about 1 1/2” from where the hole was. Sheesh!

I remember shooting an impala, again, he dropped dead.

Broke both his front legs, but the bullet did not penetrate the chest cavity.

Too low.

Just creases the chest.

But he dropped dead, probably from shock.

270 Ackley with 130 grain Barnes X.

He sat there next to it, with a stick in his hand, poking the crease in the chest, and repeating “he shouldn’t have died! He shouldn’t have DIED!”

We give him as much stick now to make up for all he has done to us.

He used to complain about Alan not being quick enough with his camera.

One year he brought his own rifle - I cannot remember the caliber.

We found an old bull, and decided to do his own hunting.

He took the sticks, and got closer.

We were watching a few yards behind.

He shot the buffalo, which ran a few yards and dropped.

We walked to him.

As he turned towards us, we could see his face was covered in blood, as well as his shirt.

We laughed so much.

He crowded the scope, and got cut.

A few minutes later Walter arrives.

More laughter.

Walter gets toilet paper and wraps his head.

He then puts Roy on the dead buffalo, gets a branch from a palm tree, and starts fanning him like those in the Pacific islands.

The temperature that February day was somewhere colder than - 30F. I was hiking along the north boundary of the park hoping that an elk might jump the fence. Normally one has to wait until there is a stiff east wind and then the elk will march into the gale and leave the park.

The season is so long as the elk can cause a lot of damages to rancher's haystacks in a very short time.

I ran into some fellow who was also hunting and like myself, really bundled up. It was so darn cold.

I asked the chap where he was from? He told me and I then asked, ' Where the hell is that?'

After the told me of his home I ventured that he was probably a farmer?

No. He was a preacher. I instantly felt bad for my language.

He then went on and told me that the year before he had knelt down and prayed for a deer. He then opened his eyes and there, close by, was a mule deer buck.

He was campng in a truck camper at a frozen, mostly empty, camp ground on the north boundary.

I walked away and later met up with my two buddies and told them that I was as religious as the next person - but that wasn't fair. Praying to God to kill something. (The last time I told this story my wife asked me, 'Who in hell was I sitting next to?')

The next day I was back on the north boundary. Bloody cold but no east wind. There were three hundred cows and spikers and one 5 pointer bedded down on a hill in the middle of the park. This part of the park rarely has big bulls. They normally winter on the south part of the park about 4 or 5 miles away.

But this day was a bit different. A big 6 pointer was standing in a little draw not more than two hundred yards south of me.

He was going nowhere soon. Neither was the big cow herd. They had no reason to go anywhere for quite some time.

Damn! I hiked back where my buddies were. They were covered in hoar frost. Ha! A great photo opportunity. I grabbed my camera and told them that I was going to take their photo.

One fellow quicky took off his toque, combed his hair and brushed off a

his hair. He had to look good! Bah!

I told the guys that we might as well go home. No wind. Middle of the day. There would be no elk moving.

They agreed. As we drove through the middle of the park on the road I saw two men (From Calgary they told me) getting out of their car and with cameras headed towards the cow herd to take photos. I told them not to bother the elk as the park wardens kept a close eye on them. No, they were just taking pictures.

I went home. A day or two later the National news in Canada told of the guys chasing the big herd out of the park to a waiting bunch of hunters on the eastern border. It was a slaughter.

Both men were fined $500.

I never saw the preacher again. But he was directly north of the big bull and that was certainly the direction the elk would have gone.

All these years later I can still picture in my mind the chap praying to God to send him an elk - and looking up as the big bull cleared the fence and headed to him.

I would not have bet against it happening.

Scruffy,

You won't find me hunting in snow country again. I hate cold.

As to chasing guineas, we were hunting in the Selous on the Ruaha river and our car broke down. The guys waded the Ruaha to get to Pierre Von Tonders camp on the other side of the river to borrow parts. I didn't want to sit in camp while they fixed the car, so we walked the riverine bush along the river looking for something. There were a lot of elephant in the Selous in those days, but we were looking for buffalo. What we found were guineas.

Change of plans. One of the trackers was carrying a shotgun, which I exchanged for my .416. Off we go, chasing guineas trying to force them to flush so I could shoot them. They ran. I ran after them. Bloody things wouldn't fly. I busted out into a little vlei and came to a hard stop.

There was an elephant cow with a very new calf standing in the middle of the vlei. I froze.
She froze, but I had her full attention. I was standing there with a shotgun full of bird shot.

I looked over my shoulder for my rifle, but I had outrun my trackers with my rifle. We watched each other for a few seconds, which seemed like an eternity, and she tucked her trunk under her baby's but and led him out stage right. Very cute!

I called an end to the war on guineas and returned to camp for a double scotch.

Now this is a total hearsay story, but I heard it from both sides of the river over a number of years, and it's entertaining. I think it's totally true having heard the whole story.

Was hunting in the Selous on the Ruaha River. PH told me a story of a Russian client who brought an "interpreter" along to the same camp. Those "interpreters" tend to be young and pretty. Russians tend to party and drink, so they don't necessarily get up at the crack of dawn to go hunting. (Maybe a stereotype, but maybe true).

So this "interpreter" was prone to sunbathing and walking around camp in a bikini bottom and topless while the great white hunters were off doing derring do.

Turns out, not much was getting done in camp while the PH was off hunting and he ultimately discovered why. So to solve the problem, he took the oldest tracker and gave him a rifle to protect the little distraction, and told them that she had to go down the river a couple of miles to sunbathe. There were some rocks on the river bank that were perfect.

That sorted the problem on this side of the river and work started to get done. Problem solved.

The only "problem" was that those rocks where the PH recommended she sunbathe were right across the river from Pierre's camp. One day, he was in the neighborhood so they decided to stop by camp for a hot lunch. The camp was deserted. The clients went back to their tents and they had been robbed.

But the only thing missing was optics. Binoculars, rifle scopes and what not. Pierre couldn't figure out what happened at first, but he found his whole crew with all the purloined optics along the river bank closely monitoring the "interpreter's" sunbathing activities on the far bank.

Once I closed the loop on this story, it's quite funny.

Walter and Roy have a long history of playing tricks on each other.

And as all jokes sometimes go, Walter went a bit too far the day we went shooting birds.

I took a Browning B2000 shotgun to Zimbabwe, with cases of shotgun ammo.

It was in those fantastic, gone by years, when I used to ship everything ahead of our hunt.

Lunch ti e we decided to give the 4 legged animals a break, and go shoot birds.

I have been shooting birds all my life, and have become good at it.

My friend Todd Kindler kept asking “do you EVER miss?”

This is in total contrast to Walter - by the way, he was part of the German Olympic Skeet team once!?

I shot a few francolines, then thought others might have a go.

Walter was next.

He couldn’t hit a bloody thing!

Miss after miss!

Roy, being the helpful PH he is, thought he might help Walter.

He got the shooting sticks, and put them down for Walter.

Saying “here Walter. These might help you”

Roy was just ahead of Walter, laughing.

Walter puts the shotgun barrel a few inches from Roy, and fires 5 quick shots!

“FUCK! FUCK! YOU RUINED MY EARS!”

Roy was screaming.

The rest of us rolling on the ground!

Driving back to camp, Roy driving and me sitting next to him in the front.

I started whispering to him.

He kept telling me he couldn’t hear me.

Swearing his head off.

Promising to GET Walter.

When it comes to birds, some days, you just can't hit the ground with your hat and other days you can't miss.

Years ago, I agreed to cover for a goose guide and was using a borrowed Italian auto I wasn't familiar with. I figured out how to load it, but when the hunt was over, I couldn't figure out how to unload it for the life of me. I wasn't about to put it in a case loaded. I was rather impulsive back then, so once I reached the proper level of frustration, I "unloaded" the shotgun in the air and put it in the case. Needless to say, I didn't get a tip to pass along.

One year, Walter insisted on bringing his Blaser with him.

He has a 7x64 barrel on it.

And being a man with some curiosity, I thought I will see how one can actually make INACCURATE ammo.

And before some of you start blaming me, this was done as a joke, to be played on the shooting range as we sighted our rifles.

His rifle was 0.284 caliber.

I thought if I loaded 0.277 caliber bullets, I will get the desired results.

There were certain requirements to be met.

The inaccurate bullets must be of the same make and model of the real ones for hunting, so he couldn’t tell the difference.

I had plenty of Nosler Partition bullets in both calibers, in 150 grains.

So I loaded some .277 caliber bullets in the 7x64 Brenneke.

I had his rifle to develop a load for him.

And to my amazement, despite loading several loads with several powders, they shot well enough for hunting.

I cannot remember the actual group sizes, but they were good enough for hunting, beating factory ammo in 7x64??!!

Back to the drawing board.

The Nosler Partitions have lead at their base.

So I got a Dremmel drill and started drilling out some of the lead.

I ended up with bullets that carried in weight between roughly 110 grains to 150.

Loaded these and shot them!

BINGO!

Got groups measured in FEET instead of inches.

I loaded normal ammo for him to hunt with.

I loaded a few rounds of these doctored bullets, and to recognize them, I used CCI BR primers in them.

Any of you who used these, might remember they have the letters BR on the primers.

Got to Matetsi.

Everyone was aware of this, except Walter.

Roy had built a very nice concrete shooting bench.

A target was taped, and I checked my rifles.

All good.

Next was Walter.

Got him the box of ammo with the doctored loads, put the desired ones on the table next to him.

First shot hits the very top of the large box the target was on.

Someone mentioned an oily barrel might have been the cause.

He fires another shot.

The bullet hits the ground half way to the target.

Laughter all around.

Someone mentioned he should stay in camp if that is how he shoots.

Walter decided his scope was loose.

Checks it.

Nothing wrong.

More encouraging ideas from the bystanders.

He fires another shot.

The bullet hits a couple of feet to the right of the target.

That is it.

Walter was MAD!

He throws down his rifle, throws the ammo all over the place, screaming SAEED’s AMMO!

We were rolling on the ground.

Walter was standing looking in amazement at everyone.

After I have managed to clear the tears, I gave him the real ammo.

He was happier then.

Ammo manipulation. Used to do a lot of duck and goose hunting in Texas. One of the guys we hunted with is a great shot. Soooo, we carefully pried open a couple of shells, poured out the shot and replaced it with tightly packed goose down. Carefully sealed the shells back up and tucked them back into the box and waited. None of us knew when one of the doctored shells would come up, but it was perfect. He took a high overhead shot, completely alone, and the air was full of smoldering white feathers. Everyone, except him, died of laughter.

Here’s a two part story since both events happened the same afternoon & evening and involved my then fiancé, Paula.

I was hunting with Roy Vincent in Deka and Paula along, as I wanted to see how she’d be with my hunting. Little did she know but if it didn’t go well, she was going to become my ex-fiancé.

Earlier in the hunt, Roy had me pass up a fantastic sable that ended up being 45”, because he knew of an even larger one living along the Deka River. He thought it would go 48-49” and wanted to try for it while keeping tabs on the bull we already found in case we couldn’t close the deal on the giant. We did find the giant bull, but while Roy was trying to confirm it was the right bull, it spooked and Roy cursed, telling me the bull was every bit as big as he thought, maybe even larger. So, with that bull scared away, we focused on our backup sable. And this leads me to the fateful evening hunt…

We went looking for the backup sable one evening and took Paula with us as it was going to be a short hunt specifically for that one sable. I took my .300 Winchester and left my .458 behind. We were moving slowly along when we bumped into 4 buffalo bulls at close range in a small clearing. We (Roy, me, Paula and Roger the tracker) squatted down with the 4 bulls looking at us from about 30 yards away. A couple of the bulls were very good and I still had another buffalo bull on license. The bulls suddenly spooked, Roy quickly told Roger to stay there with ‘madam’ and he and I took off in hot pursuit after the bulls.

Somehow, we got mixed in with the bulls in very thick brush with one of them behind us. It took off running away, directly towards where Roger and Paula were waiting. Worried about her safety, we sprinted after the bull, arriving in the clearing to find no buffalo, no Roger and no Paula. Fearing the worst, we started calling out their names. Roger appeared a moment later, trotting down a small hill and laughing heartily. Roy quickly asked where Madam was and Roger pointed up the hill. We headed that direction calling her name. Suddenly, we heard “I’m up here” and we looked up to find her up in a mopane tree! I had no idea she could climb that well.

So ended that evening’s sable hunt and we headed back to the truck and camp, which brings me to part two…

After giving Paula an up close and personal introduction to cape Buffalo, we headed back to the truck and toward camp for dinner. Keep in mind, this was May of 1983 and Zimbabwe was still quite a wild place. We were driving along, with Paula sitting inside the cab between Roy and me, with our trackers up top.

As we are driving along in the dark, we suddenly come up to a big, gray back end of an animal sticking out from the brush into the road. Roy slows down and all of a sudden a large Black Rhino bull backs into the road. The Rhino turns to face the truck and decides to start trotting straight toward us. Roy throws the Land Cruiser into reverse and starts backing away rapidly with the rhino in hot pursuit. The dialogue between Roy and Paula was hilarious and went something like this:

Paula: Do something!

Roy: I am. I’m backing up

Paula: Why don’t you just stop and shoot it?

Roy: I can’t. They’re protected.

Paula: So what, he’s chasing us. What will happen if you shoot it?

Roy: I could end up in jail.

Paula: We’ll, DO SOMETHING!

Roy: I am. I’m backing up.

Paula: Back up faster, he’s gaining on us. What will happen if he rams the truck?

Roy: We will probably get tipped over.

Paula: Then what???

Roy: It won’t be good.

This kind of dialogue went on for a couple minutes before the rhino stopped, did a 180 and started trotting back up the road, with us now chasing it. Finally, after much horn honking, high beam flashing and revving of the engine, the rhino turned off the road and into the bushes. We hurried past and returned to camp without further incident. Paula was thoroughly terrified, but Roy and I thought it was quite a fun experience as one doesn’t get to see a Black Rhino in the wild very often, even back then.

The next time we asked Paula if she wanted to go out hunting, she declined, telling us we were nuts! I don’t think she went out with us at all after that.

Good story. So did you marry the girl or what?

Another classic Roy Vincent.

I had a 7mm Lazzeroni, and spend a couple of hours one morning trying to shoot impala for bait.

I managed to kill one, from very close range, several I missed!!

Everyone was laughing at me.

Then carrying the rifle on my shoulders, I noticed some clicking noise.

Upon examination, I discovered that the action screws were loose??!!

We did not have the right Allen key, so put the rifle in the truck, and got my 375/404.

Killed 3 impala with 3 shots, all 250 yards or less.

Then we see a bunch running on the other side of the Luzi River up the hills.

Roy said I should try one more, as that will give us enough bait.

The impalas never stopped, carried on up the hill.

I was resting my rifle on a large rock, and looking at them

Roy says, forget about them. They are too far now.

They stopped.

A male was facing away from us, answering the call of nature.

He looked like a good target, so I fired at him.

He dropped dead.

It was over 400 yards.

We walk up to him, and find the bullet hit him in the rear leg, coming out of the neck shoulder junction.

Roy says.

You shot is too far back!

In 2017, we were in Masailand hunting mostly plains game, but had one buffalo on ticket. Tracking eland up high, we came up to a drainage that we couldn't cross so we glassed. Spotted a herd of buffalo across the drainage with a good bull. He was downhill and over 200 yards and I just said no.

The PH talked me into sitting down on some short sticks and I was rock solid. After some math, I took the shot. The bull ran downhill, the rest of the herd ran over the ridge. Hell of a time packing him out, but I don't think I'll ever shoot another buffalo at 200+.

Hunting in Chete.

Saw some bulls run up the rocky hills.

Off we went after them.

The wind was good, so we stayed close, but bush too thick to see enough to shoot.

Hours later, after crawling on our stomachs, we got our chance.

I could see part of a bull, very close.

We were lying down.

I asked Roy which way was his head.

He looked.

And looked.

And looked.

He turns towards me with a big smile, and whispers “it is a log!”

We never saw those guys again!

quote:

Originally posted by lavaca:
Good story. So did you marry the girl or what?

Yes, I did the next year. She was a good sport the first few years. Went with me on a spring Brown Bear hunt on Kodiak in 1985, then a 3 week trip with the Vincent’s and Peter Johnstone to Charara in 1986. Had a son in 1987 and she never traveled again. I went to Botswana for a month in 1989, alone, and that didn’t go over well. Only Africa trip from 1990 to 2018 was a 2-week family vacation in Limpopo with a bit of hunting in 2009. Finally divorced in 2011, took some years to dig out of that hole, but from 2018 to present I’ve hunted Zambia and Twice in Tanzania. Have 3 African trips booked over next 19 months, two of which are hunts with Alan Vincent. My Yellow Lab never tells me I can’t go.

Not sure if this is just an embellished story or not but I had a PH tell me that he had a group of 3 guys for some special trip. Can't remember if it was a bachelor or birthday party. Something along those lines. Anyways,one of the guys never would ride in the back of the truck and that made the other 2 a little mad. So in all fairness, they would turn the guys scope 30 clicks up and to the right and he couldn't hit anything. He'd get so frustrated that he demanded to go back to the range daily. Well, the boys would just click the scope back to the original position and he'd be back on zero. This went on several days with many missed animals. When he finally figured it out, things got pretty heated. All is fair in love and war I guess.

We were looking for fringe eared oryx in Northern Tanzania.

We came across an ostrich male.

Alan suggested I shoot it.

It was running like the klappers, in and out of the scattered trees.

Everyone was laughing “are you getting beat by a chicken!”

He suddenly appeared, at what looked liked miles away, more like 300-400 yards away!

He was running at full throttle going away at a slight angle.

I fired at him.

He looked like he stopped in mid stride, opened his wings and dived flat on his face!

Very laud laughter from everyone!

Does squirrel hunting count?

I was just a teenager having fun, still-hunting for red squirrels with my .22 rifle one morning. As I was walking along toward a large oak tree, I saw another hunter standing on the other side of the tree looking up at it.

The leaves were few in number, so it was easy to see into the interior of the tree. I looked up, and saw a squirrel plastered four square against a large branch, exactly opposite the other hunter. The squirrel didn't seem to know I was there.

By this time, the other hunter had seen me. He looked at me, shook his head, pointed up at the tree and shrugged, with a questioning look on his face.

I gave him a thumbs up, raised my rifle and shot the squirrel through the head. The squirrel fell at the foot of the tree and the other hunter and I walked up to it.

He was an older fellow. He told me all he had seen was a flick of tail and then the squirrel had disappeared.

Fair play, he said, and we shook hands.

He asked me if I thought the tag team approach might work again? There were many large oak trees in this area. It was almost like a planted grove of them. We agreed to give it a try.

We still-hunted for a while longer, and we both saw a big red squirrel in a tree ahead of us, just before he edged around the trunk. We got closer, and I told my fellow hunter it was his turn this time.

He got into a good, solid shooting position against another tree, resting his rifle against the trunk. I walked in a wide circle around the target tree, and then approached the tree from the opposite side.

Next thing I knew, I heard my new friend’s .22 crack, and saw and heard the squirrel fall to the ground under the tree.

We walked through the oak grove for another hour or two, but did not kill another squirrel.

Sadly, we did not take down names or phone numbers when we parted ways, and I never saw my tag team partner again.

It's been forever since I’ve hunted squirrels. I kind of miss it.

DLS,

I'd have married her too based on that story. Sorry it didn't work out.

Saaed,

Awesome story on the log. Last year, we were following up a buffalo losing light. A tracker pointed to the left, but my eyes went to a burnt log. I couldn't break off of it until the buffalo came out of the grass. All worked out, but it's amazing how anything black looks like a buffalo in thick cover.

If I've said this before, I apologize, but last year I saw river otters twice. I'd seen tracks numerous times, but never actually seen them. That was a hoot.

Michael,

Neat story.

We had a house on the beach out of town, on top of a sand dune.

The sea was about 200 yards away, and we used to spend a lot of time at that place.

Fishing, shooting, and participating in lots of sea sports.

At the weekend our place was packed.

At certain times of the year, we got lots of dragon flies.

I have a T/C Contender with a 44 Magnum barrel.

I loaded shot shells for it, and kept the ammo in my pockets.

Together with normal, reduced, 44 Magnum ammo ,loaded with 240 grain lead bullets.

I had bets with everyone that I could shoot flying dragon flies.

I did.

Never missed a single one.

Others tried, but I gave them bullets instead of shot!

My father and his friends were in stitches, as some of the shooters were very good with a shotgun, and were totally lost, and getting upset, that I can hit the dragon flies and they could not.

Telling a story on myself. I screwed up on a buffalo, no two ways about it. I hit him exactly where I intended, I just didn't realize he was quartering to and not broadside. The ironic thing is quartering to is my favorite shot on buffalo, I just didn't identify it. So I shot him too far back and couldn't get a follow up shot. Made for a long day.

He headed into a great expanse of tall grass, over head high. We tracked him, the trackers climbed trees, but couldn't spot him. So we went into the grass. We ran into a korongo and he turned and paralleled it, staying in the grass.
Fortunately, PH, Ernst Schultz (hope I spelled his name right) had a premonition and we broke off following the blood trail, crossed the karongo to give us a buffer and paralleled his track from the other side.

Ernst spotted the buffalo across the karongo, how I don't know. I missed him, but Ernst nailed him. We re-crossed the karongo and I didn't see the buffalo, now quite dead, until he was three feet away. We backtracked his trail a bit and he had been waiting for us where the grass was the tallest and most dense. If Ernst hadn't made the decision to cross that korongo, somebody would likely have been hurt. That grass was impossibly thick. Pays to hunt with a a good PH.

I made an inexcusable mistake. Should have been a very simple recovery.

Back to Saeed's comment about missing a hippo at 50 yards, hard to imagine how one could miss a buffalo at even closer quarters, but I'm proof that it can be done.

We were hunting in Matetsi, Zimbabwe.

We saw kudu bulls walking far away.

Got out of the truck, and ran after them.

We ran and ran, until we got to a top of a hillside.

We could see the kudu just about to disappear into some thicket at the top of another hill side.

They were at least 300 yards away.

Roy puts up the sticks, saying "there they are!"



I got on the sticks, and was panting so much, I could hardly keep the hillside in my scope.

The kudu disappeared.

Roy says "they have gone now. You were too slow to shoot!"

I laughed, and said "Roy, I am not sure I could have hit the bloody hill the state I am in!

Was hunting in a camp with the army and game department who were on a joint anti-poaching operation and was asked to shoot a buffalo for rations. Tracked a herd for that purpose, not expecting to find a decent bull in the herd that time of year. Shot the best buffalo I've ever shot and put him on license. He was blind in one eye and suspect he was hanging out with the herd for protection. Buffalo are where you find them.

Back around 1955 I got a Daisy Red Rider BB Gun for Christmas. I practiced religiously in our basement and even fabricated a backstop out of cardboard that captured the BB’s to reuse. I got pretty accurate with that BB gun and started hunting Chipmunks, which were plentiful where we lived in rural New England. I soon learned that to anchor a Chipmunk you had to hit it directly in the eye. Any shots to the torso meant a wounded Chipmunk who scurried off into a hollow log or a stone wall. My Dad taught me how to skin animals; he was the Chief of Surgery at our local hospital. After skinning, I would stretch the minuscule pelts out on Cardboard and salt them. My baby sister was a toddler at the time, and I promised her I’d stitch the pelts together and make her a Chipmunk Coat. My Dad finally convinced me it would take many hundreds of pelts to make such a cost. Sixty plus years later my sister still asks me where her Chipmubk Coat is.

Hey, Bud,

Did you manage to stop off at the German bakery in Outjo for some of the world's best apple strudel on your latest hunt with the Zebra folk?

I was having a gin and tonic at the home of a very famous Zimbabwean Ph and he asked me if I was interested in a bull elephant.

Of course, I was, I told the gentleman. But I could never afford the high daily rates that he was charging on their concessions in the Zambezi Valley.

He told me of an area where he was allowed two bulls a year on quota. The bulls had smaller ivory but I could hunt for plainsgame rates ($250 a day) and if a bull came through I could whack him for the going rate of $7,500.

A great deal and I quickly shook hands. I also wanted to hunt a lioness to go with the big male I had hunted in the dim and dusty past.

A couple of years later I was back in Zimbabwe but things had mostly gone to hell back in Canada in the meantime.

In no particular order:

The Canadian dollar had tanked even more than usual and it now took !.40 Canadian to buy a single American dollar.

The premier of Alberta had decided that the province must be debt fee so the citizens who were associated with the public payroll must take a 5% paycut off their gross earnings.

Daily fees had gone up to $300 U.S.

Trophy fee had increased to $10,000 U.S.

I had brought my wife and 15 year old son at $100 each per day so the 14 day hunt was now $7,000.

I could no longer afford the bull elephant of my dreams. But I was O.K. with that. I had no other choice.

A few days into the hunt we did see two bulls by a waterhole. The PH was instantly ready to go after them but I had to sadly inform the chap that it was now out of my price range.

Several days later the famous Ph showed up. He had come to fire the cook for some reason and asked me why I had decided not to shoot an elephant.

I sadly stated the pay cut and the decrease in value of the Canadian peso.

He thought for a minute and asked if I was wanting the hide? I had shot a tuskless a few years earlier and no longer had need for any more of that.

He then stated, ' 7.'

I looked at him.

He continued on, ' Some now, some later.'

An elephant on the installment plan.

My wife blurted out, 'He'll take it!'

I looked at her in astonishment. It was still four months take home pay for this Alberta school teacher.

She said to me, ' We are here. You'll never get a better chance!'

We shook hands.

Before the trip was over I got my lioness in a very exciting hunt where the young Ph's light went out a minute after I shot with two more lions around. And a great bull elephant that anyone would have been proud to take in the Zambezi Valley.

Scruffy,

Nice story.

I'll tell another one on myself. Years ago, I took a couple of bowhunting trips to Namibia. Not interesting anymore, but this was long ago. The set up was over a bore hole in a hide (blind). And you wait. No longer have the patience for that or the interest in hunting over water.

This particular blind was a pit blind. It was octagonal and your face was at ground level. There were windows, screened by burlap where you peeked out. I was leaning on one side of the blind, with my face against the window and my bushman guide was doing the same on the opposite side of the blind. The main shooting window was out the front in between us.

It was a slow afternoon and I'll admit, I had leaned my head against the edge of the side window, and my have even been dozing a bit. All of a sudden, something cold and wet was thrust hard into my left cheek.

Basically all hell broke loose. A mongoose stuck his nose in the window and found me.
I reacted, the guide reacted, I bowled over that poor bushman half my weight and we both wound up on the floor of the blind, the mongoose had an equal reaction and the whole troop stormed off in a cloud of dust.

The Bushman found all this incredibly funny and when we got back to camp, he kept repeating the story over and over, much to my chagrin.

Scruffy: Yes I stopped at the Bakkerie in Outjo to buy the tastiest Apple Strudel in the world. I arrived early in the morning just after they opened and the native sales clerk said they were “All sold out”. So I went next store to the SPAR supermarket where they’ve always sold pastries from the Bakkerie. The manager there told me that he since the Bakkerie came under new ownership they’d raised their prices so high they stopped carrying their pastries! BUMMER